Paco

Paco and Julie at the MIA

I'm really fond of this blurred picture of Paco and his friend Julie.It was taken in an elevator at the Minneapolis Institute of Art.  The MIA is an amazing place with a variety of exhibits ranging from Chihuly glass sculpture in the main lobby to an antique automobile. I'd show you the auto, however, every attempt to download pictures from my file is met with an error message. Frustration looms large when this computer balks.It affects what and how I write.  Outside, it's snowing again. More of the same and it's only November.  Last night's full moon will remain unseen as it, too, was blocked by a faulty phone line or some other glitch.  It cannot be the size of the file because I tried a variety of pictures.  No matter. Screw the effing computer, there's always glue, paper and pencil.  Send me a dollar and I'll give you a copy.  Reminds me of the bumper sticker I spot on a passing pick up truck years ago. Left side- I NEED MONEY BAD.  Right side- SHOW ME YOUR BOOBS.  The driver was of the 100 hits school of thought. It goes like this.  If you walk down a long, white sand beach, or any beach for that matter, asking  women to go out with you, an imperfect stranger, 99 will tell you to take a hike.  One per cent will say, "Oh, sure. Why not?"  You can just show me the money, Thank you.

When we crossed a Minneapolis street on our way to a crowded liquor store, a man slumped against the wall of a storefront does a double take as Julie walks by in designer jeans. A cartoon double-take.  Look once, Jerk your head to the left, and again, slowly gawk with open mouth.  In England they'd call her a stunner. It is Saturday and Minneapolis bans the sale of liquor on Sunday.  Like an all-you-can-eat buffet people  overindulge. They purchase more liquor on Saturday perceiving a shortage of booze the next day.  The city fathers encourage hording with a ridiculous law.  Inside the store, reps from wine makers are giving out smaples.  The correct spelling is samples but I rather prefer smaples.  The festive atmosphere and a dry Sunday work wonders for their sales.

Alas, Paco and Julie are no more.  

Paco works nights. Julie works the day shift at a chicken processing facility.  Julie wants Paco to quit his job as night auditor.  They argue.  Next door to their second floor flat on the artsy-fartsy side of town not far from Eat Street, a guy is renovating a single family house.  Julie, lonely at night, turns to the neighbor for aid and comfort. Paco moves out.  The next time he hears from Julie, she's calling because she was arrested for DWI. The relationship is finalized when Paco learns she's caught herpes from her lover next door. Sad. It doesn't end there. Julie gets what she wanted all along.  She marries. 

I amazed at how well Paco takes the news.  He's neither resentful, angry or upset. At last word he's avoiding his favorite pub because of a woman he dated tends bar at the same.  He breaks it off for reasons he doesn't explain.  The bartender begins stalking him at work and at home.

This could have been a full moon shot between the Norway pines on the east fence line. I would have written about the full moon antics of seniors at the retirement home or Dawn's recipe for Chipolte Chex Mix with dark chocolate.  She left some for me to sample during my day.  Sneaky Pete knows I can't resist semi-sweet dark chocolate.  It's the only chocolate with some health benefits according to Jorge. Remember ladies, the way to a man's heart... I'm being sarcastic and telling you this because tonal inflections are notoriously absent from e-mail and short blog pieces.  Besides, I'd never use the word "lady"  since it comes from Old English Lede which means loaf kneader.  The expression is so ingrained in our culture that it's similar to a well known landmark in Phoenix called Squaw Peak.  Both are slurs.  The biker guy who calls his wife, "The old lady"  is referring to her as his loaf kneader.  Is it the same when a speaker addresses his audience as ladies and gentlemen?